“Dad! Look!”
She froze.
I froze.
Her teacher smiled.
Sophie’s eyes became enormous.
“I mean—”
I crouched in front of her.
“What?”
She looked embarrassed.
“Uncle Mason.”
I swallowed.
“You can call me whatever feels right, kiddo.”
She stared at me.
Then she whispered,
“Can I call you Dad?”
I looked over at Lily and Brooke.
They were both listening.
Brooke shrugged.
“I already do at school.”
Lily nodded.
“Me too.”
I laughed.
Then I cried in the school parking lot.
A lot.
The girls pretended not to notice.
Eric was not completely gone.
Sometimes I wished he had been.
For years, there were random signs of him.
A Christmas card from Nevada.
A birthday card mailed from Texas.
Once, a package arrived containing three stuffed bears and no note.
The girls were seven.
They played with the bears for a week.
Then Brooke asked,
“Who sent them?”
I could have lied.
Instead, I said,
“Your biological father.”
All three became quiet.
“Does he know where we live?” Lily asked.
“Yes.”
“Then why doesn’t he come here?”
There are questions children ask that have no answer capable of protecting them.
“I don’t know.”
That was the truth.
When the girls were thirteen, Eric finally called me.
I almost hung up when I heard his voice.
“Mason.”
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
“What do you want?”
“I’ve been thinking about the girls.”
“Congratulations.”
“Come on.”
“No. You don’t get ‘come on.’ You disappeared.”
“I wasn’t okay after Melissa died.”
“You think I was?”
Silence.
Then Eric said,
“I want to reconnect.”
I laughed.
I couldn’t help it.
“Reconnect?”
“They’re my daughters.”
That sentence did something ugly inside me.
I walked out onto the fire escape before the girls could hear.
“No,” I said.
“What do you mean, no?”
“You want to be their father? Show up.”
“I’m trying.”
“No. You’re making a phone call.”
“Mason—”
“Get on a plane. Get in a car. Walk here. I don’t care. But don’t call me from another state and tell me you’re ready to be a dad because you’re feeling guilty tonight.”
He became angry.
“You can’t keep my children from me.”
I almost shouted.
Instead, I lowered my voice.
“I’ve spent thirteen years making sure they never feel abandoned again. If you want to be part of their lives, you come here sober, stable, and prepared to stay.”
Eric never came.
I never received another phone call from him.
Raising the girls cost me things.
I don’t say that because I regret it.
But pretending otherwise would be a lie.
I never finished the business courses I once planned to take.
I turned down a management position in Columbus because it required relocating in the middle of Lily’s junior year.
I skipped vacations.
I sold my motorcycle when Brooke needed dental surgery.
I cashed out a tiny retirement account when Sophie received an opportunity to attend a summer academic program in Washington.
And then there was Rachel.
Rachel Bennett was the closest I ever came to building another life.
We met when the girls were eight.
She taught English at their elementary school.
She was funny, stubborn, and completely unimpressed by my attempts at charm.
For almost five years, Rachel stayed.
She came to softball games.
She helped with homework.
She knew Lily hated pickles, Brooke hated socks, and Sophie secretly loved old black-and-white movies.
The girls adored her.
So did I.
One night, Rachel and I sat in my truck after dinner.
She stared through the windshield for a long time.
Then she said,
“Do you ever think about us getting married?”
My hands tightened around the steering wheel.
“Rachel…”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I think about it.”
“And?”
I looked toward our apartment.
The girls were upstairs with Mrs. Coleman.
“I barely have enough time to give them what they need.”
Rachel’s eyes filled.
“I’m not asking you to take anything away from them.”
“I know.”
“I’m asking whether you can make room for me too.”
